


Spiced Memories

by Flames and Fairy Tales (Flames_and_Fairy_Tales)



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Casual day, F/M, First Date, Fluff, set post TEG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21956920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Fairy_Tales/pseuds/Flames%20and%20Fairy%20Tales
Summary: An errand run turns into an impromptu date for Lockwood and Lucy.Written for the Discord Secret Santa
Relationships: Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	Spiced Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thesaltwaterdaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Thesaltwaterdaisy).



“Do you think that’s everything, Lockwood?” I asked as I picked up a last salt bomb from the shelf. Lockwood looked down into the little basket he was carrying, which was filled with another set of salt bombs, bags of iron filings, and a can of chain oil. Lockwood and I were doing an errand run to Satchell’s, stocking up on our supplies, which were running a low after our last case.   
Despite being well prepared for the minor cluster we had run into at Tower Hamlets Cemetery (Not all deceased appreciated being interred in public graves), the case had made a major dent in our kit. We had lost two rapiers in our struggle to contain the source which turned out to be a deteriorating headstone. It had nearly crushed Holly and me after George had thrown a flare at it to keep Quill from getting ghost touched. We were all glad that only our swords had fallen victim to it. 

“Yeah, it is. We’ve got more salt in the basement and the new rapiers will be delivered tomorrow morning.” He answered. I added the salt bomb to his basket and gave him a small smile. “Let’s pay for this then.” 

  
We walked to the register side by side, the silence between us a comfortable one. We had gotten a lot more at ease with each other since that walk we took together after Lockwood left his mother’s necklace on my bed.

  
No, not his mother’s, it was mine now. I had put that necklace on and Lockwood smiled so warmly when I can downstairs, it could have heated the Other Side. He had said his mother didn’t wear the jewel in the traditional sense, that its meaning was too special to her to wear it daily. In a way, I understood where she was coming from. It was quite something to wear someone’s undying devotion on your chest. And yet I could barely bring myself to take off the necklace when I got ready for bed at night. One glance at the smooth surface would bring back the warmth that flooded through me when Lockwood and I walked through Marylebone that night, hand in hand, and it made me never want to part with it. 

  
Neither of us had said the words yet, but we both knew how the other felt. How could we not, with that gorgeous symbol of our feelings hanging between my collarbones? We spent more time together, relaxing in the library, training together on lady Esmeralda the second, and running errands like these. Not much had changed between us, and yet everything had. It allowed us to grow closer, and the casual touches which only increased since he gave me the necklace never failed to make my heart skip a beat. I know the others were getting impatient with us, that they wanted us to confess our feelings, but the pace suited us just fine.

  
After we paid and the store clerk had bagged up our purchases, Lockwood and I left Satchell’s and started to make our way back to Portland Row. We weren’t in a particular hurry. Our caseload had increased after the Fittes Incident (yes, the capital letters are necessary), but the frequency of hauntings was going down bit by bit. We could now make a proper planning for our work week and managing the workload had gotten easier. It allowed us to take some time for ourselves now and then. 

  
Lockwood and I didn’t speak while we strolled down Jermyn Street, the silence between us more than comfortable. I watched as Lockwood looked into the shop windows, noting which styles of shirts and ties caught his attention. Christmas was coming up, and I didn’t have a clue what to give him yet. Maybe a tie wasn’t the most original or personal gift option, but he did wear the one I’d gotten him two years ago a lot. Our hands brushed against each other every few steps and I was just about to grab his hand when Lockwood stopped. 

  
“What is it?” I asked after a moment had passed. What he was looking at, I didn’t know, but he seemed fascinated.  
“That cafe on the corner of the street is new, I think. Want to check it out?” Lockwood pointed across the street to a tiny terrace. A few small tables were arranged on the sidewalk, beneath a large space heater. At this time of year, there weren’t people outside, but from our spot across the street, we could see the activity inside. Garlands of lavender served double duty by protecting the establishment from visitors while also being a decorative door curtain.   
“Sure,” I answered Lockwood. “I could do with a hot coco.” 

  
Lockwood grinned and took my hand, guiding me across the street at a purposeful pace.   
Warm air and the smell of freshly baked goods greeted us when we stepped into the cafe. A piano cover of music I’d heard on the radio played in the background, and there was a general buzz of conversation. There was shelving with tea blends the cafe used you could buy mounted on the wall behind the counter, but the thing that immediately drew my attention was the glass display case full of little pastries. It held slices of cakes and pies, petit fours, and even donuts. The variety was impressive, and the sight made me realise I was a little hungry.

  
“Do you want to get something?” Lockwood had seen me looking at the display and gave a knowing smile. “The carrot cake looks good.”   
I nodded in response. “Yeah, it does.”

“Let’s get a seat so we can order two slices,” Lockwood said, gesturing to the seating area of the cafe. The wooden floorboards creaked a little when we walked towards the free table at the window, but the sound didn’t disturb any of the other patrons. Nobody looked up as we passed, even though we were carrying our rapiers and bags from Satchell’s, which would betray our profession. As I looked around, I realised there were more agents enjoying a cup of afternoon tea and even some Nightwatch kids mingling with smiling adults. Perhaps their parents. 

My attention was drawn by Lockwood, who had pulled back a chair for me. He sat down across from me and waited until I had taken my pick from the drink menu before scanning the menu himself. A waitress materialised at our table mere seconds after Lockwood had put the menu down too, ready to take our orders. 

She had her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun, was wearing a white uniform shirt, and silver hoops dangled from her earlobes. Her smile was somewhat reserved, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she sounded genuinely happy to have us as her customers.   
“Good afternoon, are you ready to place an order?”   
“I’d like a hot chocolate, please,” I said, “and a slice of carrot cake.”   
“Chai tea and carrot cake for me,” Lockwood added.   
The waitress wrote our order down in her little notepad and gave a nod. “I’ll be right back,” she promised. 

Conversation flowed while we waited. We chatted about our recent cases, the way Quill had slowly been helping out at the agency more and more (“I’m sure I can get him to join us for real soon Luce!”) and George’s latest project. He was trying to publish his findings on the spreading of the Problem.

It felt like no time had passed when the waitress returned. She placed our drinks and cake on the table and made herself scarce again. I wrapped my hands around my mug of hot coco, admiring the way the caramel syrup was swirled across the dot of whipped cream. I’d have to drink it quickly if I didn’t want it to melt into my drink. Lockwood’s drink looked pretty as well. It was served in a large glass and looked like some kind of milky tea with a brownish stick in it. It was way lighter than the tea he usually preferred, but his relaxed smile only grew when he gave the tea a swirl with the stick and took a long sip. He fished out the stick and put it on his saucer, and now I recognised it as a cinnamon stick. 

“What did you order?” I asked, unable to identify his drink.  
“This place’s version of masala chai, do you want to taste, Lucy?” The words didn’t sound familiar, but I nodded anyway, my curiosity getting the better of me. I took the offered glass and took a careful sip.   
It was a tea, but nothing like any of the other blends I had tasted before. The milky black tea was flavoured with more spices than I could recognise, enhanced by something sweet, honey perhaps. I handed the glass back to Lockwood, wiping my lip with a finger. 

“It’s good,” I told him, watching as he raised the glass and drank some himself. “I’ve never had anything like that before.”

“It’s Indian tea,” Lockwood started explaining. “Each region has its own variations in the spices they use, and no doubt it differs within families too. I haven’t seen it around here often, but it has been getting more popular these last few years. Warms you right up during a cold day.” 

  
“How do you know it then?” I asked, raising my mug to take a sip. Lockwood liked exotic stuff, but I had a hard time imagining him walking into indie cafes to try new drinks. 

  
“My parents drank it sometimes.” I hesitated for a moment. For as long as I’m known him, Lockwood’s family was a sore subject. He didn’t share memories and anecdotes often, and I had learned it was better not to push him about it when the subject came up.

  
Lockwood’s mood didn’t seem to have changed though. His expression had grown a little nostalgic, and his eyes looked a little farther away, but it didn’t seem like he was about to shut away his feelings again. 

  
“You’ve got something on your face, Luce,” he said, pointing at his own upper lip with an elegant finger. Blushing, I wiped away the whipped cream moustache. Lockwood’s smile grew again, and it emboldened me to ask more. 

“I didn’t know your parents had been to India?”

“It wasn’t their primary research destination,” Lockwood explained. “I think they visited Mumbai during their honeymoon, but India was more of a stopover during their travels. The culture around death is different there, you see. Many people there believe in reincarnation after death, so there is less focus on the will of the deceased. Their death culture is very different from ours, and I think my parents decided to focus on cultures that have a connection to ancestral spirits.” 

  
I nodded to encourage him to keep talking. 

  
“My mother had a fondness for souvenirs though, as you know,”-the collection of artefacts and tribal items spread and displayed at Portland Row sprang to mind. We had lost some of them the night of the siege, but put the rest back up. The house didn’t feel the same without them. “-and from India she took Chai mixes, amongst other things. I was too young for a full cup of tea, but Jessica knew I was curious and let me have the last sips from her mugs from time to time, while my parents pretended not to notice.”  
The mental image of a small Lockwood drinking from his sister’s cup made me smile. 

  
“You enjoyed sticking your nose in things you shouldn’t, didn’t you? Drinking your sister’s tea, climbing up to get that mask...”  
Lockwood shot me a conspiratorial grin. 

“I still do. Marissa Fittes definitely was something we shouldn’t have stuck our noses in.” I couldn’t argue there.   
Our conversation returned to more mundane topics after that, while we ate our cake and finished our drinks. The cafe had emptied now that Curfew was getting closer, and the waitresses were wiping down the surrounding tables. Lockwood pulled out his wallet and counted out the money to cover our bill. 

  
“Could you pay Luce? I got to use the gents’,” he said, handing it to me. 

  
I nodded. 

  
While Lockwood was gone, I flagged down our waitress and gave her the money.   
“Miss, I was wondering… Do you sell the masala chai mix?” I stumbled over the unfamiliar words, but the waitress seemed to know what I meant. “The tea your date had, you mean?”   
I tried not to blush at her calling Lockwood my date and nodded.  
“We do, I’ll get you a packet.” 

  
Lockwood returned a little later.

  
“Ready to go home Luce?” he asked, offering his hand. I nodded and took his hand, lacing our fingers together. Hand in hand, we started our twenty-minute walk home. In my other hand, I held one of the bags from Satchell’s, with Lockwood’s Christmas present hidden deep within. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little one shot! Merry Christmas!


End file.
